


Last

by santana-lopez (nightshifted)



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-21
Updated: 2011-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-24 20:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightshifted/pseuds/santana-lopez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Firsts and lasts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last

It starts because Mr. Schue had gone and scribbled out the words 'first time' across the whiteboard, then turned around and grinned at them with that creepy serial killer smile. He'd meant the first time they'd experienced music, but of course, by the end of the meeting, everyone's already swapping V-card stories.

It's only slightly awkward that most of them had lost their virginities to someone else in the room. Only like, a little bit.

But whatever, Santana freaking _loves_  watching everyone else squirm uncomfortably as they glance awkwardly around the room and tries to pretend like they aren't imagining the others stark naked and bumping uglies.

Mike and Tina nudge each other and everyone aws because apparently they're all still in the fifth grade.

Artie exchanges a sad smile with Brittany and the rest of them leave it at that.

Quinn glares angrily at Puck and storms out.

"This really ghetto girl with a nice ass," Puck says when it's his turn, glancing toward the door as though contemplating whether he should run after Quinn. "Aphasia something."

Santana perks up. "The Jane Adams chick?"

"Yeah, yeah, later robbed a bank. Pretty hot, right?"

Santana totally thinks so, but she ignores him, mostly because he's looking at her like she'd have an answer for him now that she's exclusively into chicks. Asshole.

"Billy Fisher," Brittany announces. "It was really stuffy in his shed."

Santana's heart flips, even though she already knows. She'd made Brittany describe it to her in great detail when they'd been fourteen. But now, three years later, she wishes she'd never asked.

She waits until Rachel starts talking about how she has yet to experience penetration before rising to her feet and heading out the door.

\--

"Hey."

Santana looks up from her locker and watches as Brittany approaches her.

"You okay?" Brittany asks, leaning against her own locker.

"Rachel Berry and penis are two things I do not want in my life, especially simultaneously," Santana replies, exaggerating an eye roll. "A bunch of virgins squawking about how special they want their first time to be? Gag me."

Brittany bites her lip. "Was your first time really that bad?"

Electing to remain quiet, Santana shuts her locker and turns to Brittany, eyes tracing the frame of Brittany's face: her cheekbones, her jawline, leading down to the column of her neck. She remembers kissing Brittany's skin, tentative and unsure, remembers burying her face against Brittany's neck as Brittany moved expertly against her. Santana flushes at the memory.

Brittany's shoulders rise and fallin a short shrug. "Practice makes, perfect, I guess."

Santana nods, taking the out that's been offered to her. "Yeah. Guess so."

\--

It's late, and Santana isn't exactly sure what she's expecting when she lets herself into Brittany's room, but it's stupid because her palms are sweaty and her knees buckle slightly as she enters.

Brittany is sitting cross-legged on her bed, one of her cats - the fat one - sprawled comfortably across her lap.

"Hi."

Santana tries for a smile. "Hey. You busy?"

Brittany shakes her head. "No, Lord Tubbington and I were just watching Boy Meets World."

Santana looks around, eyebrows knitting. "But you don't have a TV in your room."

Brittany points to the top of her dresser, where a small Bob the Builder figurine is standing next to a model globe. In spite of herself, Santana laughs.

Brittany grins and pats the surface of her bed invitingly, and Santana's legs move from muscle memory, one in front of the other, until she slides onto Brittany's bed. Lord Tubbington immediately lumbers over and curls up against her thigh.

"What's up?"

"Huh?"

Brittany shrugs. "You can just hang if you want, but you look like Charity after the first time I caught her reading my diary."

"I--" Santana leans back, her arm brushing the carved notches on Brittany's bedpost. She jerks her body away like it burns to touch the markings. She swallows hard and asks against her better judgment, "Which one's mine?"

Brittany's eyes dart to her bedpost, but she falls silent.

Santana turns to look behind her, letting her fingertips brush the first notch.

 _Billy Fisher_.

Santana moves to the second. "This one?"

Brittany hesitates a moment before shaking her head. "Puck."

Swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth, Santana slides her finger to the next notch, the third. "This one?"

"Santana," Brittany pleads, eyes downcast, "stop."

Santana nods, reaching up to brush away the tears that have silently collected against her own cheeks. It hurts in a way that she can't explain, knowing that she's just a notch among so many others.

"You were my first," Santana finally admits.

"You said--"

"I lied."

"Why'd you do that?" Brittany asks softly, moving closer on the bed.

"Because I wasn't your first," Santana sniffs, feeling stupid and vulnerable and wishing she could stop crying. "Because I wanted to impress you. Because--because I didn't want you to know that you were my first and that I'd remember it forever."

"You're so dumb sometimes," Brittany mutters.

Santana's head snaps up, tears halted by Brittany's words. "What?"

Without warning, Brittany snatches Santana's hand and tugs her toward the head of the bed. Lord Tubbington makes a noise of disapproval when Santana slides away but otherwise doesn't move.

"What are you doing?" Santana asks, inches from the wall against which Brittany's bed is pressed.

Brittany guides Santana's hand to the bedpost there, curling her fingers around the wooden bar until Santana feels something rough under her fingertips. Brittany loosens her grip to allow Santana to explore the indentation, hidden between the bedpost and the wall.

"That's yours," Brittany tells her with a small, sad smile.

Santana's chest aches, her hand shaking against the bedpost. "Wh--what's it doing here?"

"You were different," Brittany says simply. "My mom always told me that when I found someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, I'd just know."

"Brittany..."

"The first one means nothing unless it's also the last one," Brittany continues. "I'm not going to marry Billy Fisher, Santana."

 _Because you're going to marry me_ , Santana wants to say, but she knows it's not the time. So she settles for pulling Brittany closer and pressing her lips to Brittany's. It's been so long that she nearly weeps at the first taste of Brittany against her tongue.

Laughter bubbles from Brittany's throat as Santana gently presses her down against her bed and lies down next to her. Their fingers intertwine between their bodies.

Santana makes an important decision.

As long as Brittany will have her, she'll be Brittany's last.

_fin_


End file.
